


we are nothing more than our choices (so let them be the right ones)

by neverazombie



Series: Sentinel!AU [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Hostage Situations, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Psychological Torture, Torture, guide!Jaskier, sentinel!Geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverazombie/pseuds/neverazombie
Summary: “Your Witcher. Not much use for words. The ones it did spare… your name was one.”“Yes, well, if you’ve taken us hostage simply to have a conversation with him, you may as well just slit your own throat now and save us the trouble.”This is a sequel to / takes place in the same universe as "look into my eyes (tell me no lies)" Sentinel!AU
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Sentinel!AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617001
Comments: 52
Kudos: 627





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apparently had a lot more to say on this topic, so here we are! This is gonna be a lil darker than the first one, the sadist in me really just jumped out here. 
> 
> I am fully subscribed to the feral bastard Jaskier discourse, so y'know, enjoy.

As was typical, Geralt heard Jaskier long before he saw him.

"...oh ho HO! I told you mad fucks you were in for it! Time to meet whatever pathetic gods you pray to!"

Geralt stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he ran the last few yards towards the guards' outpost. He could hear enough movement inside to get a pretty clear image of what was going on, and feeling Jaskier's lack of true panic kept him from overreacting.

Then, he felt Jaskier pull strength from their bond.

“My friends, I think you’re going to Stand. Still.”

He still kicked the door down to get inside. Just to make a point, really.

The door flew fully off its rusty hinges just in time for Geralt to watch Jaskier, with hands bound by rope in front of him, bring a rickety looking chair down over the head of one guard. He pivoted and swung the remains of the thing at the side of the other guard behind him, leaving them both moaning on the ground. 

Geralt casually leaned against the doorframe, sword still sheathed in his hand, like he hadn't just sprinted a considerable distance to get there. And as if Jaskier hadn't been able to feel every ounce of his fury and _moderate_ concern.

"Geralt! A little late to play knight in shining armor this time I'm afraid."

"Good thing, it's not as if you're some helpless waif. You finished here?"

Jaskier stomped his heel on the head of the one guard who looked like they were contemplating a second wind. Geralt couldn't mask his satisfaction or amusement at the sight if he had tried. 

"I think that's just about enough. Unless you'd like to stab them lightly? No? Then, if you wouldn't mind?"

Jaskier proffered his bound wrists to Geralt, smirking.

"Hmm."

Geralt hooked a finger through the ties and tugged the bard in closer. He brushed a quick kiss against the man's sweaty forehead and dragged him out the entryway by the bonds.

"You know, I meant for you to release me."

"I think I like you like this. Less chance of those wandering hands to get us in more trouble."

"Trouble seems to find us no matter what state my hands are in, Witcher."

"Hmm."

Geralt used the single finger he had threaded through the rope to tear it apart. He heard Jaskier's heartbeat rapidly speed and smelled the arousal, deep and heady, come pouring off the man. He knew the mental deluge of lust was not far behind.

"Not. Now."

He couldn't keep the growl out of his tone and knew he wasn't helping his cause. 

"Are you absolutely sure…? I know, I know. And I'm actually quite eager to leave this shitstain of a city behind. Very ungrateful, considering the veritable army of drowners you slew for them."

Jaskier discarded the remainder of his bonds carelessly as they started back in the direction they had left Roach the night before. Geralt walked close enough to him that their shoulders brushed with every step. Jaskier accepted the contact without comment, understanding.

Geralt was already used to dealing with the residual protectiveness that would linger after any incident where Jaskier was threatened. Though it had barely been two months, if that, since their bond had been given life, it had already happened far too often. Jaskier getting too close to the monsters Geralt was hired to exterminate, Jaskier running into a previous lover, Jaskier running into a previous lover's spouse… the man found himself no shortage of trouble. 

"You know, just because you're aware that I'm coming to find you… do you need to be that reckless?”

"Geralt, my overprotective bear of a man, that's exactly why I’m reckless! Long ago, I was forced to rely only on my own wits and devilish charm to get me out of scrapes, but now I'm branching out. Did you feel it through the bond? I managed to compel them! Yennefer owes me an entire crate of wine, she wagered it would take me at least four months to master!”

Geralt had felt it, and wasn’t surprised at all. Knowing that guides had the ability to drive people to action with the power of their voice and empathy alone… certainly explained plenty about Jaskier’s ability to get himself into places, and beds, he shouldn’t be. Jaskier had been offended when Geralt asked Yen if it worked on him. It didn’t - so all the times he went along with any of Jaskier’s ridiculous requests, it was all his own stupidity.

“Besides, I very much enjoy starting a fight knowing you'll step in and finish it if you must. I held my own just fine in this one."

Geralt stopped suddenly, lips thinned into a tight line, mood gone serious. Jaskier stopped as well turning towards him, feeling Geralt's shift and immediately apologetic.

"Just because your lifespan has been lengthened… you're not invincible now, Jaskier. And you can handle yourself, but it would be… bad for me if something happened to you."

"You're right, you're completely right, Geralt, I'm sorry. I just…I just...our bond feels more powerful than anything else… wait, bad for you? That’s all you’re going to say on that subject? Incredible Geralt, just really, you’re really digging deep to flatter me with the kindest and most sentimental words of how much I mean to you… Here I am feeling nearly euphoric wondering how could our bond possibly ever be broken, how either of us could ever even die when we’re this-"

Geralt could feel Jaskier's regret at even voicing the thought the moment he said it. They both felt the tremendous weight of despair at the thought of one of them dying, a thing they had learned to avoid early on.

"Fuck."

Geralt felt himself start to drift, his hearing sharpening and expanding, vision blurring as he began to reach for leagues, hearing every small sound in the city, in the surrounding swamp, the worms moving in the earth…

He felt Jaskier's hands slide softly over his ears, felt the man's head gently rest against his own forehead. Without saying anything, Jaskier began taking long, deep inhales, letting out longer, slower exhales, continuing slowly until Geralt began matching his breathing. Geralt could smell Jaskier's familiar scent, the faded mixture of sandalwood and lavender oils he preferred, the sticky wax he used on his lute, the earthy, salty spice of his sweat. His sense of hearing began to dull back down to it's normal, mutated levels, and some of the tension drained out of his body.

Jaskier's hands slid from his ears to brace on his shoulders, but didn't move any further. 

"Shit. Well, it's a good thing I've turned out to be quite handy as a guide, as I think I've triggered about half of your zone-outs myself."

Geralt wasn't quite up to forming words yet, but shook his head and felt his disagreement as strongly as he could through the bond, keeping his eyes tightly closed until he further settled. And maybe also to avoid seeing the self-deprecating grimace he knew would be on Jaskier's face. He still wasn't comfortable handling all of the man's feelings.

“It’s all still new. It took me ages to grow accustomed to the mutations of becoming a Witcher. We’re...we’re doing fine, Jaskier.”

“Yes, well, not much of a learning curve here is it? You’ve already relearned your limits and I’m still trying to figure out how to feel things...quieter. Or at least not send you off the deep end while feeling them.”

“You were already sending me off the deep end with your feelings long before our bond, Jaskier.”

“Haha yes, thanks for trying to lighten the mood, but why don’t you leave the comedic aspirations to me, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt felt Jaskier’s hands skitter around his shoulders and eventually return to the sides of their owner. They began to trek towards the stables near the city’s entrance.

“So what exactly happened last night? After they shut the entire city gate between us, the guards weren’t very forthcoming with their reasoning for imprisoning you suddenly.”

“Same as always, wasn’t it? The lord decided he’d rather not pay for my services. I think he figured that using you as a hostage would encourage me to depart quickly and not put up a fuss.”

“Ha! It’s as if he hadn’t heard a single song I’ve written about you.”

Geralt snorted. He pulled out a large purse from inside his chest plate and tossed it lightly, as if testing its weight. Jaskier laughed in delight.

“So we’ve got coin, but we’ve also now got another city we’ll have to cross off our list of places to retire to. That list seems to keep growing and growing.”

“The guards didn’t ask you any questions about…?”

Geralt had survived this long due to what Jaskier would call deeply-rooted paranoia and trust issues - what Geralt called understanding how humans work. He knew there was no way for any common person they came across to have even an inkling of what had become of him and Jaskier, and he hoped that the lord had used Jaskier as a bargaining chip merely thinking the usual, that Geralt would care enough about a traveling companion who had done him some favors with the public to negotiate for their release. But part of him worried that there would always be a chance that keener ears would be listening, looking for ways to get to him. Yes, most people still treated Witchers with general loathing, but having a Witcher in your service would be quite a coup for some middling kings. Especially with rumors from Nilfgaard that there were unnatural magics making the kingdom uncomfortably powerful. 

“No, Geralt, no one asked specifically targeted questions about our mystical soul-bond.”

Jaskier’s tone made it evident he still felt strongly about Geralt’s paranoia. 

“Why don’t you say it louder, this close to the city? Maybe half the guard hasn’t heard you?”

Jaskier had quickly found it more effective to drown their bond in sarcasm and disdain than speak it. Geralt still felt righteously concerned and loudly ignored it. He wondered, at times, what it might look like to an outsider when they essentially had entire conversations in their heads. 

“Let us simply make haste and leave this place in our hindsights! If you’d like to dump a few drowner corpses at the gate as a reminder slash warning, though, I shan’t stop you.”

They neared the gates, Geralt relieved to find them open… less relieved to find them seemingly unguarded. As soon as Jaskier felt Geralt’s apprehension and the pull of his senses sharpen, he quieted immediately. At least one blessing from the bond was the bard having a better sense of when to keep quiet. 

Geralt could hear the general hum and bustle of the city, could smell the masses of people and animals crammed into the city limits, could see the flow of pedestrians and riders across the market just inside the gates… but there was so much sensory input he couldn’t quite narrow down the presence he was looking for, the contingent of guards that should be minding the gateway. 

“Jaskier…”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Jaskier reached out and pushed up the sleeve on Geralt’s shirt to get to the bare skin underneath. As soon as he made contact, Geralt had a way to anchor his sense of touch, and reached further out with his hearing. Listening for the clanking of armor on armor, the march of thick-soled boots...and heard nothing of the sort. He pulled back.

“It’s probably a trap.”

“It’s most definitely a trap but we can’t just leave Roach in the city by herself!”

“Her hearing is keen but I doubt she’d be able to free herself if she’s been stabled or tied down to stop her from leaving.”

“I should go then. I’ll draw less attention than you, I’ll blend right in, slip into the stables and we’ll ride out to meet you. Simple!”

“No.”

“Well, that’s an unhelpful attitude. I’m perfectly capable-”

“I know, Jaskier, but we don’t know what kind of trap this is. What if-”

A bright, hot jet of magic streamed past them, only inches from meeting its targets.

“Fuck!”

Geralt pushed Jaskier behind him and drew his sword in one motion, whirling around to find the threat. He couldn’t feel anything with any of his senses that was out of place or would suggest any sort of magic user was in the area. 

“We don’t have a choice, make for the gates.”

“Yes, yes, running for the gates, I’m right behind you!”

They both took off at a sprint, Geralt still searching for any sign of a coming attack, still sensing nothing. He tried to quell the burgeoning panic he was feeling to keep it from Jaskier, but he didn’t have much hope of hiding something so strong from the bond. 

As they neared the gate, they heard a loud voice from behind them and stopped in their tracks.

“Witcher!”

They turned to face a figure entirely covered by a heavy, black cloak, cowl shadowing their brow and collar pulled high up over their chin. Geralt could see a faint smirk on their lips, something deeply wrong but unplaceable about the shape of their mouth. The magician quickly cast again, and instinctively Geralt stepped in front of Jaskier to shield him. He felt the other man’s panic as he remembered…

“Fuck.”

The magic, whatever it was, hit him directly in the chest, and he lost consciousness.

\---

Jaskier had a million curses to hurl at the Witcher, who had conveniently forgotten that his immunity to magic was still compromised after ingesting Istredd’s compound. And Jaskier was still learning how to replace that immunity with his own shielding abilities, so he was obviously of no help. But before the words could reach his tongue, he saw Geralt collapse and their bond abruptly… stopped. In shock at the lack of sensation Jaskier had already grown so used to, he stumbled and dropped to his knees next to Geralt’s body. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find one shred of air to take in… 

His vision was growing blurry but he could see the cloaked figure fast approaching. Forcing himself to stay upright, he tried to get a better look at the figure, but couldn’t make much else out from the small sliver of skin on display. The mage reached out to grab a fistful of Geralt’s hair and no, not on his watch! Jaskier threw his body across Geralt’s and knocked away the attacker’s arm, putting himself between the Witcher and whoever this enemy was. They laughed maliciously at his attempt, as he still gasped for breath against the pressure of the deadened bond. 

“And who are you, poppet?” 

The figure shoved the toe of their boot into Jaskier’s side to push him off of Geralt. Jaskier kicked into the side of the mage’s knee, sending them stumbling back and hissing. That’s right, who was the poppet here?

Jaskier bared his teeth and curled more tightly around Geralt’s body, not quite having the strength to move them anywhere yet. The figure lashed out with another magical attack which simply… deflected off of Jaskier like a bad critique of his singing. A bad critique delivered by someone other than Geralt, of course.

Oh right, the whole guides-are-magically-immune-thing. Well doesn’t that just become useful at the best possible time?

The mage paused, staring at Jaskier then looking down at their own hands in clear confusion. The bastard. 

Jaskier took advantage of the moment to slide off of Geralt and roll unsteadily to his feet. He gripped the man by his pauldrons and started dragging him towards the gates. So close now, if he could just…

The figure was suddenly next to him, grabbing the front of his jacket and tearing him away from Geralt. He thrashed wildly and tried to knock the mage’s hands off him. The mage didn’t flinch at the few hits he landed and quickly moved their hands to wrap around Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier immediately clawed at the back of the magician’s hands and tried to kick out the same knee, to weaken it further. The figure easily knocked his feet out from under him, sending him again to his knees.

“What are you? Not just a simple human, we see. Something much more interesting than that. What are you to the Witcher, we wonder?”

Jaskier had some extremely choice words for their attacker...if only he could breathe to share them. It didn’t stop him from trying. 

“Huge...mis...take…”

“Would you like to speak, poppet?”

The pressure on his throat lessened.

“You’re... making... a huge... mistake.”

“You think so? We came here hunting for the Witcher touched by Destiny. We came here to destroy it and everything it holds dear. Are you a dear thing?”

Jaskier coughed as the magician gloated. If he had enough saliva in his mouth, he’d love to spit in this bastard’s face.

“I’m going to enjoy watching Geralt gut you like a pig. I hope he’ll let me help.”

The mage paused. One of their hands slid to grab the hair at the base of Jaskier’s skull, pulling his head back awkwardly. The other moved to the collar of his jacket, jolting when it passed over Geralt’s mark. The magician ripped aside the clothing and Jaskier heard the sharp inhale and positively maniacal glee in their voice.

“It reeks of Destiny! Perfect, perfect. You’ll be coming along with us, the Witcher and ourselves.”

The mage’s touch turned soft, searching as it ran its fingers along Jaskier’s throat. Rearing back from the sting of the sensation, Jaskier sneered back. His aversion to being touched by anyone other than Geralt had faded over the weeks since the bond had settled, no longer set off by a mistaken brush in a crowded market or bump in a tavern. Only foreign intimate touch made him feel this... disgusting. The fact that this sorcerer carried any sort of intent towards him...

“Thanks, but no thanks. We’ve already got our travel plans firmly decided, and there’s no room in our party for a third, unless you’re a devastatingly gorgeous brunette with incredible purple eyes underneath this hideous cloak. And I’m willing to wager you’re not so if you could kindly _fuck off_ -”

“We hope you’re this lively when we start breaking bones, leaving bruises and cutting pretty little lines on that fair skin of yours, poppet. When we find all the places the Witcher has touched, and replace them with our own.”

Jaskier felt his first real chill of terror, having kept it at bay this long. Without being able to reach Geralt’s half of the bond, he didn’t think he could compel a magician this strong to do anything. Time to rely on regular old conflict-resolution skills.

“I’m sorry, did you not understand fuck off? Perhaps I spoke too softly for you. Fuck. OFF.”

The mage let go of Jaskier’s collar to reach into his robes and withdraw a small bottle. The fluid in it was a forboding black sludge, and when the cap was thumbed off, the noxious smell made Jaskier’s stomach churn. The grip on the back of his head tightened further as began to fight harder to get away from the magician. The mage kicked him swiftly in the chest and as he opened his mouth in pain, forced in the contents of the vial. Jaskier immediately tried to spit it out but the magician was quick, cupping a hand over his mouth and pinching his nose shut. He had no choice but to swallow it. He felt it sink heavily into his stomach, and his consciousness start to fade as the magician softened their grip on his hair, petting the back of his head, and discarded the bottle in their other hand to press their fingers into Geralt’s mark. 

“We’re going to break you both… the Witcher will never have a chance…”

Jaskier felt a final wave of revulsion at the touch and blacked out. 

\---

Geralt woke suddenly. These days, he was used to a flood of sensory input upon the moment of waking, so he braced himself for the onslaught. 

None came. 

He reached for his bond… and felt nothing other than a dull buzz.

His eyes snapped open as his heartbeat leapt in his chest, searching for Jaskier immediately.

He couldn’t have...he couldn’t be…

He saw a slumped figure across the room from him, separated by a barrier of thick iron bars and immediately surged forward on all fours towards it. 

Just as he reached the bars, his momentum stopped abruptly by the manacles around his wrists, anchored by chains into the far wall. His shirt cuffs had been thoughtfully rolled up so the thick iron bands rubbed against the bare skin of his wrists. He growled and fought for the few centimeters that would bring him to Jaskier’s side. He could smell the man’s familiar scent and hear the faint breathing so he was alive, but why couldn’t he feel him through the bond? What had the magician done? 

“Get up. Jaskier, wake up… what’s wrong with the-”

He stopped, realizing something wasn’t right. The scent was there, but it was wrong, it wasn’t… and the heartbeat, it wasn’t Jaskier’s rhythm…

The creature, presumably what had attacked them earlier, dressed in Jaskier’s clothes sat up looking interestedly at Geralt through the bars. The thing was a sickly gray humanoid, completely hairless with a flattened nose and a bare slit for a mouth. It’s eyes were sunken and milky white.

“So it’s name is Jaskier. We forgot to get it before we took it. Your Jaskier, it’s unusual isn’t it? Unaffected, it was, by our magics. Not normal, not normal at all. Is it special like you, Witcher? Did you torture it, give it unnatural powers?”

Geralt grit his teeth, no intention of giving up any information to the thing. It sounded as though Jaskier was alive and he didn’t want to put him in further danger by asking too desperately after him. He kept his silence. 

“Oh come now, come now. We won’t be playing these games, no, we have other games, better games to play. We know you’ve left your mark on it, Witcher. Like the beast you are, setting your teeth into all that soft, fair skin. How violent and dark your appetites must be, how unfortunate it must be to suffer them.”

Geralt’s hands curled into fists, but continued to remain as unprovoked as possible. He couldn’t sense much of anything beyond the room he was in - no sounds of other life outside the sturdy, wooden door at one end. No scents of man or beast, no shadows passing under the doorway. 

“It’s a pretty thing, though, so we can’t blame you for savaging it. All pretty things are made more beautiful by pain. Tell me, Witcher, does it cry? Does it beg you to stop? Or… does it beg for more? Does it love the pain?”

Geralt refused to give it what it clearly wanted.

“Are we boring you, Witcher? If you’re trying to find a way out, we’ll tell you. Through that door lies a hallway, lies many hallways, lies an ancient elven keep, abandoned and drained of its magics. No conduits to keep it alive. The stones themselves consume every sight, smell, sound, taste and feel. They long to be what they once were. If you attempt to leave, your mutations will be of no use to you.”

Geralt sneered at the creature and threaded a thumb and forefinger through a link in the chains restraining him. He held it out, so the creature could clearly see. With a bit of pressure, the iron groaned and began to bend. 

The creature hissed in laughter and with a small gesture, sent Geralt sliding across the room. Godsdamned Istredd and his godsdamned…

Geralt rolled out of the assault and stood, staring down the creature silently.

“Well, if you’re not ready to talk to us, we shall simply go see if your bard is awake yet. It seemed quite eager to speak, before we forced a potion down its throat. Maybe we’ll even give it back it’s clothes… but we do like them, so maybe not.”

The thought of Jaskier unconscious and naked, the thing having touched him to get at his clothing...he could feel his body tremble slightly at the rage.

The creature watched him as it stood, gauging his reaction.

“Or...maybe we let it stay unawares…maybe we enjoy the pretty thing ourselves...”

Geralt lunged at the bars, wrapping each hand around a bar and pulling sharply, baring his teeth at the thing. He could feel the iron give under his fists and start to bend. With another gesture, the creature knocked him back. Barely taking a moment to recover, Geralt surged towards the bars again and continued trying to break his way through. He cast Aard, giving the creature a taste of its own. 

The creature shrieked in laughter, barely pushed back a few steps by Geralt’s own magic.

“We thought you might not like that, Witcher, but this!” 

Laughing to itself, the thing turned towards the door on it’s side of the bars.

“Don’t you fucking leave, you walking abortion. You want to hear me fucking talk? Fine then, listen to this: if you so much as breathe in his direction, I will-”

Geralt felt the spell hit him like a boulder to the chest, and he had the breath knocked out of him as he watched the thing exit the cell.

He took a few seconds to collect what information he had as he caught his breath.

He was alive, Jaskier was alive and somewhere in this keep, unconscious, and that possibly being the reason he couldn’t feel the bond. They could feel the presence of the bond while one of them or the other slept, but true unconsciousness might be a different story entirely. 

He had no idea what this creature was or what it wanted with him. It didn’t seem too eager to get to any sort of point either. And in his experience, the ones that didn’t rush, the ones that drew out the torture… those were the worst.

\---

Jaskier couldn’t with any amount of truth say that he was unfamiliar with vomiting upon the second of his awakening, having a long, long history of overindulgence, but it certainly wasn’t an experience he looked forward to.

He had instinctively turned onto his side as he first gagged, and heaved violently as bile mixed with a thick, black substance splattered onto the stone floor he was laid out upon. 

He gagged a few more times, trying to push onto his hands and knees. He felt tears gathering at the corner of his squeezed-shut eyes from the strength of his body’s rejection of the substance. 

Shit, that was unpleasant. 

As he coughed roughly, he let the current situation sink in...and immediately cast out to the bond. Oh gods, if he still couldn’t feel Geralt -

But he could. A relief so powerful it sent actual tears spilling over his cheeks, he could feel Geralt’s rage, frustration and overwhelming anxiety over Jaskier. He felt the bond quiver as Geralt realized he could feel Jaskier. Their combined relief made the muscles in his body go lax, almost a completely soporific effect, and he collapsed onto his back, rolling away from the pool of his upheaval. 

He took a few deep, calming breaths and held as tight to the bond as he could. He and Geralt weren’t able to share anything as specific as thoughts through their bond, but they could feel enough of each other to know that they were both alright, all circumstances considered. 

At the sound of a door latch being undone, his eyes opened and he quickly realized he was naked. Well… it could be worse…

Worse walked through the door.

The creature was hideous, it’s skin leathery and grey, sagging off a face with features that were just...all wrong. There was no structure to them: a flat nose pancaked like it had been repeatedly hit till all the cartilage crushed; the eyes, far too close together, too round, too white and dull; the mouth, a long flat line with no discernable shape or lips, barely holding back a mouth full of many, too many yellowed teeth. Not a single strand of hair on the body… a body that was clothed in Jaskier’s very own garments.

“Mannerless of you to take a man’s clothes without asking, but after seeing your disgusting countenance… you can keep them, if it pleases you.”

The creature’s grin was unsettling, far too many teeth in far too wide a mouth.

“Very generous of you...Jaskier.”

Jaskier flinched back from it.

“How do you…?”

“Your Witcher. Not much use for words. The ones it did spare… your name was one.”

“Yes, well, if you’ve taken us hostage simply to have a conversation with him, you may as well just slit your own throat now and save us the trouble.”

He knew Geralt could feel how unsettled he was, could feel the man growing frustrated with his own helplessness to get to Jaskier. Just being able to feel the other man again though allowed Jaskier to tamp down on his own growing fear.

“It seemed very concerned for your safety, Jaskier. Very concerned that we might…”

The thing stepped closer to Jaskier and he pushed himself away across the room from it. 

“Well, yes, we are, you know, frequent companions on our journeys. And it is his job to protect humans from monsters. So you can see how his concern might be warranted.”

The thing closing in on him had sent Jaskier into pure animal instinct panic, and he could feel Geralt become a little feral with his anger.

“And are you? Human, that is?”

“What else would I be?”

The creature continued to move steadily closer to him as he scuttled backwards, no objects in this bare room he could put between them.

“Humans are not invulnerable to magics, Jaskier.”

“And-and who says I am?”

He backed himself into a wall and shimmied up it, at least drawing himself to his full height as the thing brought itself well into his personal space. He could feel Geralt’s rage consuming him. 

“Don’t try to fool us. We know what you did. We know you stopped our spell. We know things, Jaskier. We know you are not human, and we know you belong to the Witcher. We want to learn new things, now.”

“I’d like to know things too, ugly. Let’s start with: why have you taken us? Why were you after Geralt in the first place?”

“Pay attention, Jaskier. We already said: we’re going to destroy it. Erase it’s existence, every scrap of it, from this Continent. You are… a pleasant surprise. A pleasurable surprise. Witchers don’t have vulnerabilities. You bear it’s mark like a target.”

The thing reached for the mark. Jaskier batted it’s bony, leathery hand away and shied away. It backhanded Jaskier hard enough that his head snapped to the side and he stumbled slightly, shocked at the power in the slighter body. It slammed his head back against the wall, one cheek pressed to the stone and one smashed under the weight of it’s hand. Slightly dazed, Jaskier couldn’t stop it from stroking the mark with it’s other hand, stomach churning in revulsion. 

“It feels so strongly of… Destiny.”

The word seemed to inspire both delight and disgust from the creature. It leaned in, bringing it’s unnatural mouth close to Jaskier’s skin.

“No! Don’t!” 

He reached for the bond’s power.

“DON’T.”

He could feel as the compulsion sank into the creature and it stopped moving. He was still held tightly to the wall, and the thing’s muscles had gone rigid enough that he couldn’t move them.

After a long, deadly quiet, it pulled back abruptly.

“How…? You are turning into quite the prize, Jaskier. Chaos itself cannot be turned against us. What manner of power do you have?”

It let go of Jaskier, and he collapsed on shaky legs, curling in on himself. 

“Don’t you ever fucking touch me again, you ugly freak of nature. Don’t you-”

The thing quickly knelt down and grabbed both of Jaskier’s legs, one hand above each knee. 

“Jaskier, we want you to be ready. Everything the Witcher has… everything… it will be ours. We will erase every shred of his existence, and take it all for ourselves. You will be the first and greatest thing we take.”

It traced its fingers along the length of his upper leg, hands sliding towards his hips. 

Jaskier gagged. Then pulled himself together and drove his forehead directly into its smug face. Take that, hideous mistake of nature.

The thing’s head snapped back, but it otherwise didn’t move. It rolled it’s neck, chuckling, and backhanded Jaskier a second time. His vision blurred, and he braced himself against the wall with one arm. 

“We don’t want to play too hard too early, Jaskier. Though you may not be human, you’re still too fragile to last very long, not with our kind of fun.”

The creature stood and walked to the door, exiting without a second look at Jaskier.

The moment the door shut, Jaskier let himself start to panic for real. He reached out for Geralt with everything he had, needing to feel every bit of the support and comfort the bond provided. Geralt’s burning overprotectiveness warmed him. He offered his own concern and comfort as best he could. 

Had he overplayed his hand, compelling it that early? Could that have been the way out? No, it had shaken off the power much too fast for it to have been any good for an escape attempt. They had to figure out how to get the thing to put them in the same room. 

\--- 

Geralt had been through actual physical torture that had been far easier to withstand than Jaskier’s encounter with their captor. 

The constant level of fury, a fire only fed by the knowledge that the thing was putting its hands on Jaskier, it had at least been fuel to his work towards escape. He had focused first on prying apart the links of chains that held the manacles to the walls. He had then managed to bend one of the iron bars far enough askew that he could squeeze through to get to the side of the cell with the door. The door unfortunately was protected by magic, and his own had done nothing. He had tried brute force as well, ramming his shoulder into the thick wood, the sole of his thick boots, tried to rip the hinges off the inner edge of the door, desperate to get between the thing and Jaskier, but it remained sturdy and shut.

He was trying to keep his wits about him, trying not to let his anger consume his reason. He had had a small moment of hope when Jaskier had borrowed power from the bond, but the frantic sense of terror that continued on meant he must have been unsuccessful… His best bet was to wait for the thing to return and try to take it by surprise. He would simply get his hands on its fucked up face and snap its neck in one quick movement. And while he wasn’t one for excessive violence or overkill, he couldn’t help but fantasize a little about beating its body into an unrecognizable smear for even daring to look at Jaskier.

When Jaskier reached through the bond for comfort, he gave what he could. He imagined wrapping himself around the man and hoped it translated into their bond. 

He truly didn’t care what the thing wanted with him, whether it had a rightful grudge or not, and he wasn’t going to humor some overwrought, philosophical monologue from it either. Long before, he had the luxury of not making choices, of letting others’ actions guide his own and only offering his own insight to situations. Even when he had first met Jaskier, he had already begun to break his own rules, become involved beyond the letter of his contracts. Now, it was as different as day and night.

He no longer was responsible only for his own fate, both Yen’s and Jaskier’s lives quite literally tied to his own. He couldn’t afford to let others do the choosing, others decide whether his life was worth sparing or not. What his life may have lacked in value was far surpassed by the two he had bound himself to.

So, no, there would be no chance for this monster to make a choice for or against evil - Geralt had already made it. The thing was already dead, just living on borrowed time until Geralt could separate it’s head from its shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus H this took a long time to write, my bad. 
> 
> This is about to get dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This capture contains fairly graphic depictions of torture (you can skip to the notes at the bottom of the page for specifics), so please please please consider that before you read. If the hurt part of hurt/comfort is not for you, you can skip this chapter and join us again for the next one which will be all comfort, all the time baby!

Hours passed. How many, it was hard to tell, for surely being naked, alone and stuck in a bare room with only a small culvert in the stone wall for light made it seem like a small eternity. 

Jaskier was seated against the wall opposite of the door and was desperately trying to keep his tired eyes open, not wanting to be taken by surprise by their abductor.

The amount of comfort he was able to draw from Geralt through the bond was immeasurable. If they hadn’t been bonded and in this situation… Jaskier almost couldn’t bear the thought. Yes, of course he was unsettled by the thing’s interest in him, but if he hadn’t known if Geralt was alright he may have done something incredibly… rash early on and put himself in a worse situation. 

He knew that keeping the soft flow of reassurance trickling through the bond was wearing on Geralt, a man unused to being looked to to offer comfort of any kind, especially for hours on end, but the man’s effort, his devotion to their bond… Jaskier could scream his love for the man until his throat was raw. 

In return, he tried to offer a calmness through the bond to hopefully temper any of the surges Geralt’s senses might be going through. It took a while for Jaskier to realize that he was humming as he concentrated on the bond, a new and unfamiliar tune that when he focused into it… it was Geralt, in a lyrical form. The sound in the dark, empty room was a salve in and of itself to his tattered nerves. 

His body was exhausted and cold, seemingly only kept awake by the fear of and frustration at their captivity. He could feel his eyes drooping, but his leg simultaneously jittering nervously against the stone floor. 

Jaskier could only hope that Geralt was formulating some sort of plot to escape, as he felt wholly useless in the matter. He didn’t have the sheer strength of Geralt to simply break down the door and make a run for it, and nor did it seem his newfound abilities would do him any good against such an unfamiliar foe. And at this point, in any other situation, he would fall back on his charm, but the thought of offering any of himself to the thing was so incredibly vile he couldn’t even bear the thought. 

Jaskier was fully confident that even if the thing did try to kill Geralt, it wouldn’t stand even the slightest chance. But knowing that that was the creature’s goal… well, if the opportunity arose, Jaskier would be more than happy to squeeze the life out of it himself. 

He felt his body start to succumb to the fatigue, felt his muscles go lax as the unavoidable need to sleep tugged at him. He was just about to give in when he heard the lock on the heavy wooden door click. 

Fear shot through him and he scrambled to his feet. He could feel Geralt’s panic echo back through the bond, and couldn’t stop his own heart rate from rapidly rising.

The creature entered the room, clothed again in the robe it had first appeared to them in, carrying a torch in one hand and Jaskier’s clothes in the other. It left the door ajar behind it, taunting Jaskier with his inability to take advantage of the opening. 

It tossed the fistful of fabric to him.

“It is time, Jaskier. Clothe yourself, we are eager to get started.”

Jaskier instinctively wanted to rebel against the request, just to be contrary, but he wanted more to have a barrier again between him and this thing. He shimmied into his trousers and shrugged the shirt over his head. 

“No chance you’ve brought me my boots as well? I’ve nearly frozen my toes off thanks to your kind hospitality.”

“It doesn’t need boots, not where we’re going. Now, follow us, and do not waste our time trying to escape. We don’t want to hurt you before we have the proper audience.”

“Will there be food and water, where we’re going? You know, as a human, I require some bare essentials to stay alive. If you truly want to keep me around, perhaps you’d better start seeing to some of those needs.”

“Perhaps it will get a treat, if it behaves. Perhaps if it begs prettily enough, it will be rewarded.”

Jaskier gritted his teeth and couldn’t quite stop himself from lunging for the thing, infuriated at this hideous creature condescending to him. It was a useless effort, the thing merely batting him back with a sharp push to his chest.

“If it cannot behave, we can punish it now. Just a little, just to remind it.”

Jaskier stumbled to the side, barely staying on his feet. 

“You can take your punishment and fucking choke on it, you son of a whore.”

The thing let out a hissing laugh, and lightning fast, reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, forcing him to the ground. Shit, he had forgotten how strong it was when it looked so unassuming. While Jaskier tried to reorient himself, the thing began dragging him out of the room and into the hallway. Off balance, Jaskier couldn’t get his feet underneath him and was dragged, struggling, down the long corridor. 

They took one turn, down another lengthy, dark hallway, and stopped in front of an incredibly sturdy door. Jaskier didn’t know exactly how he knew, but he could feel somehow that Geralt was in the room beyond the door. He stopped struggling and waited for the thing to open it. 

“Jaskier. Look at us.”

Jaskier sneered at the ground and refused to look up at the thing. 

“Look. At. Us.”

He deliberately rolled his neck, as if relieving tension, and continued to stare at the floor.

The thing’s hand moved from his collar and grabbed his wrist, wrenching his arm behind his back. Jaskier let out a sharp, pained gasp before clenching his teeth tightly. The thing settled the torch into a nearby wall sconce, and pulled Jaskier’s head back by the hair. 

“Does it like to suffer, we wonder? Why else would it refuse such simple requests? If you love pain, Jaskier, we are eager to give it to you. Your suffering will be beautiful, and without end. The agony, written into every inch of your skin…”

The thing seemingly got lost in imagining whatever undoubtedly horrific things it had planned. Though by nature, Jaskier wanted to continue to harass and fight the thing, knowing he was so close to Geralt had him relenting, eager to get through the door. 

“Right now I’m in agony listening to you talk.”

But could he really ever control his own mouth?

“Let us proceed into whatever torture chamber you’ve assembled and get on with it. I’ll be bored to death before you get a chance to lay a hand on me.”

The thing used it’s grip to pull Jaskier to his feet in front of him. Thinking they were about to enter the room, Jaskier was taken by surprise as the thing pushed him into the door itself, the side of his face pressed uncomfortably against the iron rivets studding the door. It stepped in close behind him and even though it was shorter and slighter than Jaskier, the terror was immediate. 

He frantically pounded a fist against the door, trying to somehow let Geralt know he was there. He felt a sharp spark of hope light through the rage and frustration on Geralt’s end of the bond, and knew the man understood. 

The thing pressed it’s entire form against Jaskier, who was shuddering violently in disgust. 

“The way you feel, Jaskier, the way you smell… we can’t wait for it to be ours and ours alone.”

It moved back, pulling Jaskier with it, and opened the lock on the door with a wave of its hand.  
The door swung open inward… to reveal a positively murderous Geralt staring them down.

\---

Geralt didn’t hesitate. He lunged for Jaskier, ripping him out of the grasp of their captor and went for the thing’s throat. He clearly had surprised it, to get that close so easily. He had barely gotten his hands to it’s neck when it put its hands directly on Geralt’s abdomen and using a significant amount of magic force, threw him halfway across the room. He had barely landed before he was on his feet against, charging towards the thing. Jaskier had cleared out of the doorway further into the cell, and seemed to be slightly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of Geralt. He tried to ignore the powerful emotions flooding the bond as he tried to focus on how to get close to the thing without getting caught by it’s magic. 

He had lost the element of surprise though, and the creature stopped him in his tracks. It slowly stepped towards him, still looking a little thrown by his assault. Good, it wasn’t completely all-knowing. 

It forced him back step by step towards the gap he had made in the iron bars in the center of the room, Geralt fighting his own body to stand his ground. The magic was strong, though, and even if he was still immune he may not have been able to fight it anyways. 

He could feel Jaskier make a bad decision seconds before the man jumped into action. 

Jaskier, having lost the thing’s attention as it focused on Geralt, threw himself at the creature’s back, trying to knock it down. Distracted, the spell on Geralt wavered enough that he took a shaky step forward, reversing his progress. The thing grabbed one of Jaskier’s forearms as he managed another step forward. He watched furiously as the thing pulled Jaskier around and landed a brutal punch to the man’s jaw, sending him gasping to the floor. Geralt managed another three steps before the thing, now visibly angry, screamed.

“ENOUGH!”

Everything went black. 

\--- 

Geralt had had more than enough of losing consciousness for the past few… however long this bullshit had gone on.

Groaning as he tried to sit up from where he was lying prone on a cold floor, he heard the rattle of chains as he moved. Blinking open his eyes slowly, he saw the manacles on his wrist had once again been linked onto the chains anchored to the walls. Didn’t matter, he had removed them once, he was ready to do so again. He hooked a finger through a link and began to pull, when he heard movement across the room. Though the room was dark, his vision allowed him to see the shape of another through the bars. 

Cautiously this time, he abandoned his efforts on the chain and moved slowly towards the center of the room. 

He recognized the plaintive moan of pain instantly. 

“Jaskier.”

He lunged forward, knees crashing to the floor and drawing himself up against the bars to get as close as he could.

There was a chaotic rattling of chains as Jaskier sprung awake.

“Fuck, Geralt!”

He could hear the emotion catch in the man’s voice. Jaskier pushed himself in an ungainly movement to his feet and rushed forward, almost to the bars before he was stopped short. 

He coughed violently as the thick ron collar around his throat was pulled tight by the chain anchoring it into the floor.

Geralt fisted his hands around the bars, angrily watching as Jaskier tried to catch his breath.

His eyes consumed the sight of Jaskier, looking over him to see if there was any visible sign of injury or trauma. The man looked to be in decent shape as he threaded his fingers under the collar, trying to find extra space to breathe.

“I honestly should not be fucking surprised that this thing has me chained up like a dog, but somehow I thought I’d have rated a little more dignity than this.”

Hearing the man’s voice, hearing his attitude unchanged by whatever he had gone through with their captor… Geralt couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved. 

He wanted to tell the man how grateful he was to have him in front of him, how even though the bond was a gods-send, that not being able to sense Jaskier with his whole being was possibly one of the most unbearable moments of his life. 

But Geralt was not a fool. He was sure that they were being closely watched by their captor, being studied and observed for any weaknesses, any chinks in their armour, and they couldn’t afford to give it anything.

“Better a collar than a muzzle for you, though.”

Jaskier, whose vision was that of an average human and could probably only see a vague outline of Geralt, still managed to unerringly meet his eyes. The man hesitated for a moment, and Geralt felt him reach out through the bond. Geralt did his best to convey how relieved he was, how much he was trying to protect Jaskier through his words.

He could feel the glow of Jaskier’s understanding.

The man huffed loudly.

“As always, it’s a joy to be able to share these abductions with a man who knows just what to say.”

Jaskier pushed his true affection for Geralt though the bond. 

“You can’t have had too bad a time, if you’re still running your mouth.”

Geralt, trying to uncover the extent of Jaskier’s assault.

“Well, I’ve certainly had encounters with unwanted paramours in taverns that were more pleasant. And it didn’t seem to find me all that charming, imagine that.”

Jaskier, implying that it had touched him and he had gotten mouthy.

A quick death was too good for this thing.

“Don’t suppose it told you what it wanted out of us?”

He could see Jaskier tense. He could feel the unease through the bond. 

“As usual, Geralt, you manage to endear yourself to people and creatures everywhere you go. It’s entirely predictable, though, something about wanting your head and my eternal company.”

Geralt didn’t feel particularly threatened that the thing wanted his death - if that had been all it wanted he would have already been dead. But that it wanted Jaskier… he let his protective urges flood the bond.

“It must not know anything about you, to think it could stand your company for more than an evening.”

He could feel Jaskier preen under the protectiveness. The man never seemed to tire of it. 

“Do you ever wonder, Geralt, if it’s that attitude that makes all these monsters want to kill you? Just a thought.”

Geralt hmmed quietly, and kept his senses focused on Jaskier. He could hear the man’s discomfort in the small, fidgeting movements, he could smell the sharp tang of sweat and adrenaline, and see as the man continued to feel around the edge of the collar. Jaskier pulled the chain taut behind him and inched forward slowly, trying to get closer to Geralt. At the end of its length, there was still more than two armspan’s distance between them. 

He knew the man would always want physical comfort over anything else, and it was its own kind of torture to have him so close, and not close enough. 

Geralt assumed the thing would expect to hear them discuss an escape attempt. They would have to figure out how to plan something without it understanding the true nature of the idea.

“Any bright ideas, bard, on how to get us out of this room?”

“Well, I’m hardly anymore prepared for an escape than I was when King Heinrich discovered me with his niece.”

No shoes, then. That could pose a problem depending on any terrain they would have to cross.

“I’ve already tried ripping down the door, but it’s too solid, maybe protected by magic and I can’t force my way through.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to respond at the same time the door swung open. Light poured into the room, framing the creature’s silhouette as it carried two torches into the room, mounting them onto sconces just inside the doorframe. It looked over the two of them, silent and then walked back out into the hallway. Before Geralt could start tearing apart the chains that bound him, it re-entered, carrying two large wooden buckets. One was filled to the brim with water, and the other’s contents made ominous rattling noises as it set the buckets down.

“We have waited a very long time for this. We at first just had hopes and dreams of capturing the Witcher, of tearing it apart piece by piece. But now, now we can watch it tear itself apart. Now we can watch it lose everything before we end it’s life. Now, we have a trophy for ourselves, once it is over.”

There was a long, dark silence for moments after.

Geralt, in the interests of keeping it talking, broke it.

“Tell me, ugly, what type of freak mistake of nature are you? I’ve never encountered your kind before, but I’ve never hesitated to kill a monster so obviously as backbirthed as you.”

The thing rapidly approached the bars, staring hatefully at Geralt.

“There is no kind. We are the only of our kind. And we are a monster of its own making, Witcher.”

Geralt felt a deep, dark sense of disquiet roiling in his gut. He saw Jaskier open his mouth to speak, and minutely shook his head, wanting to keep the thing’s attention on him alone. Jaskier looked displeased, but remained silent.

“Are you implying that I somehow… created you? I’m fairly certain I would remember such a face as yours.”

“It has never seen us, Witcher. But we have seen it, oh yes, we have watched it. What do you think happens, Witcher, when you refuse Destiny? When you arrogantly reject the path Fate has set for you?”

Geralt felt tension seep through every muscle in his body. This sounded like deep magic, like something elemental and impossible.

“Have you not considered it? When Destiny laid out choices in front of you, and you disdained them, walked away from them, manipulated them. All that chaos, all that entropy… it is how we were made.”

Geralt could feel the shock from Jaskier through the bond. He himself couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“So you’re… a manifestation of the chaos I created by refusing my Child Surprise? By every mistake I made, getting involved instead of walking away? Walking away instead of getting involved?”

The thing grinned cruelly.

“That sounds like a pile of shit so large you’d never dig yourself out of it.”

It’s smile faded, clearly not expecting Geralt to doubt it. It quickly became agitated, pacing.

“We were born into this shape because of you, Witcher. We were cursed to a miserable existence stuck in this sphere because of you. We have spent years waiting for the moment to strike, to kill you and end both of our suffering.”

“So why not simply kill me then, you hideous piece of shit?”

Geralt winced internally as soon as he said it, Jaskier squinting at him across the room in annoyance.

The thing reared back, now visibly insulted.

“No! No! It must pay, it must pay for what it has done. And we have finally realized the perfect way for it to suffer. It will make a choice, both will choose, or you will watch the other suffer. We will not allow it to avoid Destiny, to avoid its choices anymore.” 

With that, the thing turned away and strode angrily towards the buckets. It retrieved them, and set them down directly between Geralt and Jaskier.

“Here’s a choice: fuck off, die, or fuck off _and_ die.”

Geralt wanted to shake Jaskier, sometimes, for having so blessed little self-preservation.

Jaskier shrugged guiltily at him.

“We have a better choice, Jaskier.”

The thing slowly withdrew a small, wicked looking knife from the bucket. Geralt had a feeling he knew where this was all headed. The best he could do was protect Jaskier from any of the torture until they found an opening to escape. 

“Witcher, it must choose. We are going to cut one of you, once for every year we have been forced to exist. Who will it be?”

Geralt didn’t even pause to consider.

“Me.”

“Now hang on a moment-”

“Jaskier. I’m not entertaining a conversation on this.”

“Too fucking bad, you stubborn ass of a man, because we’re about to have-”

The creature practically shook with glee.

“It has chosen. So be it.”

Geralt watched as the thing moved towards him, saw Jaskier try to grab it’s ankle before it could slide through the opening in the bars. It gestured vaguely towards him, and Geralt had the now familiar sensation of being frozen in place wash over him. 

“Nonononono, Geralt, we don’t have to play along with any of these stupid games. Don’t let it-”

His voice caught as the creature sliced a long thin line along Geralt’s jaw line, extending from ear to chin. The blade was unbelievably sharp as he barely felt it until the sting hit him afterwards. He could feel the blood start to well and drip down to his throat. He stared it down, looking directly into it’s milky eyes without flinching, and didn’t make a single sound. If the thing thought that this was the worst Geralt had experienced, it clearly hadn’t been watching him closely enough. 

The creature grabbed his forearm and slashed the knife across his bicep, easily parting the fabric of his shirt and leaving a long stinging cut diagonally across the muscle. 

Geralt drew a deep breath and sighed, not having to try too hard to fake his nonchalance. He could feel Jaskier getting frantic as he watched, and tried to send waves of reassurance over to him. 

He chanced a look past the thing’s shoulder at Jaskier, who looked pale as he watched, one hand clawing at the collar as he tried to get closer to them. He could see well enough that Jaskier was shaking slightly, but the furious look on his face led him to believe it was anger, and not fear driving him. He could feel an equal amount of those emotions through the bond.

The creature moved on, barely sparing a second to consider it’s next target and cut a line down the outside of Geralt’s leg, from mid-thigh to knee. 

Geralt had to wonder at the random places the thing was targeting - had it no knowledge of human(ish) anatomy? It wasn’t doing any real or long-term damage, so what was the point then? 

It stepped in a half circle around him and drew the knife down parallel to his spine. That one, that one hurt a bit more. 

It stepped further around him, coming to the other side, and slid the knife sloppily between his fifth and sixth rib, edge glancing off the bone as it dug a little deeper in. He could feel the corners of his mouth tighten as he resisted the wince.

He could hear the thing’s heart rate increasing with every strike, excited by its success in drawing blood.

It completed its circle around him, standing directly between him and Jaskier. It slowly dragged the knife along his clavicle, pressing deep enough that Geralt exhaled sharply at the pain.

He heard Jaskier make an anxious noise, heard the chains rattling as he attempted to move. 

The thing took its time selecting the next spot, trailing the blade up and down Geralt’s torso. 

“We think the final one should be… here.”

It dug the tip of the knife into Geralt’s pectoral, directly over his heart. With two quick flicks of its wrist, it carved an X over his chest, and stepped back to admire its work.

“Geralt, are you alright?”

Geralt re-focused on the reassurance he was trying shower Jaskier in.

“Fine. I’m fine. I’ve had children serve worse injury. In fac- FUCK!”

The creature had retrieved the bucket of water and dumped about a third of it onto Geralt. Fucking salt water, stung like a bitch.

“Geralt! What is it? Are you-”

“Still fine, this piece of shit’s just more creative than I gave it credit for. Godsdamnit.”

Jaskier strained against the reach of the collar, hissing. The creature turned to face him.

“I swear, when I get free-”

“It is next, Jaskier. Is it ready to choose?”

Geralt froze.

“Wait. You said this was about me, about my choices. Shouldn’t I be the one to choose it all? Leave him out of it!” 

Jaskier had stopped moving as well, his uncertainty clearly written across his face. Geralt saw his gaze wander across the cuts on Geralt’s skin, and saw his face smooth out.

“Yes, I am quite ready. I choose to not participate in your ridiculous games. That’s my choice.”

In response, the creature threw the knife, burying it into Geralt’ thigh directly above the knee.

“Ahh fff--”

“Okay, yes yes I’ll choose, just stop… don’t hurt him again.”

The creature laughed and laughed. Geralt clenched his jaw, knowing Jaskier was making himself an easy target but not sure how to stop it without giving away too much about their relationship.

“Oh Jaskier, we’re only getting started.”

\--

Jaskier had never truly understood the phrase ‘impotent rage’ until now. He felt like every inch of his body was shaking with fury, and the desire to give this thing the most gruesome, painful death he could imagine. And all he could fucking do was sit here and play audience as Geralt stoically endured a minor bloodletting. 

True, Geralt would probably consider this closer to a vacation than true torture, but to Jaskier, it was close to unbearable, having to watch the Witcher bear more silent pain. 

Jaskier watched the creature move back to his side of the iron bars and withdraw a small smithy’s hammer. 

“We are going to break a bone of our choosing. Who’s will it be?”

Jaskier didn’t allow himself to hesitate.

“Me.”

“Jaskier! Are you fucking kidding me?! No, he’s going to choose me.”

“It has chosen. So be it.”

“NO!” 

The thing waved it’s hand in Geralt’s direction and Jaskier saw as the man exploded into motion. He pulled at the chains anchoring him to the wall, his teeth bared as he exerted as much strength as he could to rend the iron. Jaskier could hear the creak from the thick chain links as the struggle began to work. 

The thing’s attention was fully on him though, repulsive chalky eyes raking up and down his body as it made its own choice.

Geralt’s desperation made him shiver, made him feel slightly guilty for his choice, but there was simply no way he was going to allow Geralt to be the only one to bear this burden. 

“Geralt, it’ll be fine. It’s just one bone, I’ll heal-”

The thing grabbed his wrist and forced his hand to the ground, splaying out his fingers. In one swift movement, it drove the hammer down onto his ring finger. 

Jaskier, while plenty accustomed to the discomforts and occasional pains of everyday life, even the far more horrific pain of the tumor growing in his neck after the incident with the djinn, was not prepared for the singular and focused pain he felt in that moment. 

He heard himself scream, sounding more animal than man, curling his hand into his chest as the thing let it go. It immediately crowded into him, running its nose up the side of his face, following it with its tongue.

“Beautiful, it’s so beautiful for us, Jaskier.”

There was the loud, snapping sound as at least one of the chains gave way on Geralt’s manacles. The thing whirled around and pushed it’s magic at the man, knocking him back and repairing the broken link. 

Jaskier took a couple of hitching, steadying breaths as the shock of the pain started to settle. It didn’t hurt any less, but the lack of surprise let him calm a little. He tried to stifle the pained moans leaving his throat without his permission. 

He tried to catch his breath enough to speak, but was still too overwhelmed. He felt Geralt reaching frantically through the bond until… until he felt the physical pain lessen as Geralt latched onto it. Jaskier whipped his head up to look at him, the other man similarly searching for Jaskier’s own gaze.

Well, that was new. Jaskier couldn’t recall Yennefer covering that part of their abilities. 

He felt Geralt pull harder on the pain, siphoning it until Jaskier felt as if it were a days-old injury. 

Jaskier could see out of the corner of his eye that the thing was looking back and forth between the two of them, gaze hungry and suspicious. 

Jaskier spit at it.

“When I get free, I’m going to use that fucking hammer to knock out every single one of those misshapen teeth crowding that vile mouth of yours.”

Its thin slit of a mouth drew up into a grotesque version of an affectionate smile. It ran a hand down Jaskier’s exposed side, brushing across his navel as it settled low on his abdomen. 

“It will never be free, Jaskier. But we would enjoy seeing it try.”

The thing moved to slide back to the bars, stopping short as Geralt lunged for it. It hastily waved its hand to pin him back on his knees, but Jaskier noticed, oh boy did he notice. The thing was getting sloppy, too excited, too aroused by its own seemingly effortless victory.

He could feel that Geralt had taken notice as well.

The thing, still holding the hammer, halted in front of Geralt.

“We are going to burn it, Witcher. Whom do you choose?”

“Me.”

Jaskier wanted to argue, but he was still processing the broken bone and despite Geralt’s aid, was nauseated from the pain. He could admit that this was something he may not be able to handle. He didn’t feel that he could bear watching it either.

Fuck, there was nothing they could do but wait until the creature truly slipped up other than endure it’s torture. 

He watched as the thing summoned a fistful of flames, heating the iron head of the hammer. It planted it’s foot into Geralt’s chest and pushed, knocking him awkwardly onto his back. Banishing the flames from it’s one hand, it grabbed one of Geralt’s boots and carelessly tore it off, pulling the woollen sock underneath along with it. Jaskier could feel how much Geralt wanted to fight against it, but also his resignation at letting it happen. Jaskier felt a pain in his heart as he imagined the sheer amount of times in his life Geralt had been resigned to pain. 

The thing pressed the heated hammer head to the bottom of Geralt’s bare foot.

Geralt growled in pain. Jaskier gagged - the smell, oh gods the smell! He felt a sympathetic whine in his throat, frustrated tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. 

The thing was cackling to itself, tossing the hammer away to clatter against the stone wall across the room. 

Jaskier tried to reach through the bond, offer the same assistance with Geralt’s pain when he felt Geralt roughly mentally push him away. 

The man was so irrationally stubborn Jaskier was somehow able to be annoyed with him even in the midst of this torture. 

The thing was scuttling eagerly back to Jaskier, barely sparing Geralt a glance as it released him from it’s hold. Geralt rolled onto his side, lips clenched, and pushed himself up to a sitting position. Jaskier could see his chest heave as he breathed through the pain. 

Gods, Jaskier would give anything to be able to touch him, to help him. Seeing Geralt silently take the abuse, like he always did, was closer to breaking Jaskier than the thing’s mind games.

The creature picked up the bucket with the remaining water in it. 

“We are going to drown one, Jaskier. Who?”

A long, terrible silence followed that question.

Jaskier licked his lips, trying to muster up the courage, but fuck, he was terrified of drowning. 

Geralt knew.

“Jaskier.”

The man’s voice was soft, coaxing. Not demanding, not ordering, but gentle in a way it rarely was until recently. 

Jaskier had no defense against Geralt being gentle. 

“No, I- I can-”

“Jaskier, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do this.”

“Choose!”

The thing was vibrating in front of Jaskier, sadistic glee written all over its face. 

“Geralt, I-I get that you’re a superhumanly tough bastard, but I’m not exactly an infant. I’m not helpless.”

“That’s not the question here. There is no reason for you to withstand something when this is all meant to be for me.”

“Choose! Now!”

The creature was impatient. 

“I hope you can understand how very much I cannot let you stand in this alone.”

Geralt caught his gaze. He felt warmth flood the bond, a softer emotion than they had shared since the beginning of this nightmare.

“I won’t be alone.”

Jaskier felt his heart stutter. 

The thing, growing irate at being ignored, grabbed the chain attached to Jaskier’s collar and pulled back sharply on it, sending him to his back, gasping against the motion and trying to carefully keep his injured hand out from underneath him. 

“Fuck off, he hasn’t made his choice yet!”

“Choose now, or we end it immediately and kill the Witcher.”

“No, no, I’ll choose - I’ll - fuck! I…”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and angrily knocked the back of his head against the floor. 

He couldn’t make the word leave his lips. He fucking couldn’t say it.

The thing crouched over him, one hand squeezing Jaskier’s chin and shaking his head roughly. 

“Now.”

It’s voice was soft, more threatening than he had heard it previously.

Jaskier swallowed. Opened his mouth. Closed it and swallowed again.

“NOW!”

It left him in a whisper.

“Geralt.”

\--

When he heard his name leave Jaskier’s lips, Geralt felt as if he could have collapsed in relief. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Jaskier had insisted on it being himself. 

And Geralt was starting to see a way out. He had hidden the knife the thing had thrown at him in his boot, luckily the one that remained on him. He could see it growing more distracted, more focused on its own pleasure arising from the torture than in being careful to keep him restrained. 

He could hear it crowing, taunting Jaskier for making his choice. He saw Jaskier slump to his side, guilt and shame a blanket so thick around his mind Geralt could barely get through it. 

The man had no need to feel that way. Geralt was built to endure this sort of thing, quite specifically crafted to withstand all sorts of pain and horror and Jaskier was not. He knew there was no way to relieve the man of his guilt, at least not now, but he would try. He would try to make him see this was the only true choice.

The creature weaved its way through the bars, hurriedly carrying the water towards Geralt. 

With the smallest movement he could afford, he reached carefully for the knife in his boot. The thing hadn’t stilled his body yet, and was only a few strides away. 

He tried to roll quickly to his feet… but the pain in the burnt sole of his foot was more than he expected and he stumbled, his fast assault ended as he lost his footing. The thing leapt back from him and cast its spell as he collapsed to the ground. 

He could feel Jaskier’s misery grow heavier, thicker.

After it was sure he was stilled, the thing grabbed him by his hair and dragged him to the bucket. 

He searched for Jaskier’s gaze from the scant distance between them. 

The man hadn’t moved from where the thing had put him on his back, simply rolled his head to the side. He was rapidly blinking back tears, jaw clenched in a firm line. 

The thing forced his head over the lip of the bucket, hovering just over the line of water. He could no longer see Jaskier, but he heard him moan, a deep and devastating sound. 

Before his head was submerged, Geralt forced his way through the miasma around Jaskier’s end of the bond and thought with all his strength:

_I need you._

Just as the thing forced his head past the surface of the water, he could feel Jaskier’s surprise, a snap to alertness through the bond. 

Geralt had been forcefully submerged far too many times in his long life. Too many monsters lurking in swamps, rivers, oceans… too many battles he had fought having to hold his own breath. But without his potion, he probably wouldn’t hold out quite as well.

Under the water, he couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t smell, couldn’t taste, couldn’t see as he had closed his eyes to protect them from the salt. He could feel the creature’s hand clawing at the back of his neck. He knew he’d need to feel Jaskier in his head. The creature had him frozen so even when the instinct would kick in to thrash, to fight for air, he would be unable to physically enact any attempt at escape. 

He would be trapped in his own body and the panic would overwhelm him. He needed Jaskier to be his lifeline.

He could feel the air grow thin inside him. The thing’s grasp was unrelenting.

Jaskier was in agony, Geralt could imagine having to watch this was a torture unto itself to the man, but he was making the effort to send a calm, soothing fog through the bond, almost like a faint song that was dampening the rising, instinctual fear of losing his air.

Geralt felt his lungs burning, his head starting to feel light as the seconds went by with no relief. Would the thing choose to just kill him like this? Or would it simply wait til he passed out and then turn its attentions to Jaskier only? 

Jaskier was ramping up his efforts to keep Geralt conscious, now loudly projecting an array of emotions.

Geralt was far calmer than he could ever expect to be on his own, but he wasn’t going to hang on to consciousness much longer. 

Everything started to get fuzzy as he reached the brink, water starting to pour in through his nose as he could no longer keep it out. 

Seconds later, the creature pulled his head back out from the water, using the grip on his hair to toss him to the ground. Geralt still couldn’t move other than to cough up the water in his lungs, which dribbled back into his mouth with no ability to turn to his side. He choked on the water, forcing his eyes open to see the thing. There was a ringing in his ears, but he could also pick up the sound of Jaskier’s angry tone as the man screamed at their captor. 

Still somewhere far away from full consciousness, he felt the thing press a cloth over his mouth. He couldn’t even inhale to recover his breath without it sinking into his mouth, sticking to his tongue and the inside of his cheeks. 

Geralt was unprepared for it to continue. The creature poured the water over the cloth into his mouth.

This was somehow far worse than just being submerged. His senses were coming back online and overloading him, and he still couldn’t fucking move to get away from the assault. His body was reflexively trying to gasp for breath around the torrent of water. He had never felt this level of terror seize him before.

Jaskier was a mess of emotions in his head, seemingly moments away from his own fear getting the best of him.

And then the water stopped. The thing tore away the cloth and backed away from Geralt, releasing his body. Geralt immediately rolled to his side to cough, gag and spit up the water collected in his lungs. His whole body was shaking.

“We think that has been enough for now. We enjoyed ourselves, Witcher, we hope it is ready for later. More to come.”

Jaskier ignored the thing, focused entirely on Geralt, pale and terrified and looking for any sign that the man was recovering. Geralt saw the creature’s annoyance at the dismissal.

It stepped between them, blocking their view of each other with its body. 

“Jaskier… we hope it sleeps well. We hope it dreams of us, we hope it longs for the suffering we will bring it tomorrow.”

Jaskier continued to ignore it, walking to the side to see around it. 

The thing hooked it’s hand through the front of the collar and yanked Jaskier forward. 

Jaskier lashed out reflexively, managing to land a punch directly to the thing’s flat cheek. It’s head reared back, caught off guard, and then returned the hit, sending Jaskier to the floor. 

“We are tired of fighting it, Jaskier. It should learn its place before we tire of it. And… such a soft thing it is, Jaskier, it must want to comfort it’s Witcher? Provide a soothing voice to it’s beast? Then we are taking its voice, so they may both suffer in silence.”

“Wh-”

Jaskier grasped at his throat as his voice cut out, mouthing words angrily with no sound to accompany them. 

It violently grasped the side of Jaskier’s head and set its teeth around the center of his throat, mouthing at the vocal chords it had just silenced. Jaskier shoved at it, tried to lean away but couldn’t fight the elemental strength it had.

It stepped back, letting it’s gaze rake up and down Jaskier’s body. Without another word, it collected the materials it had brought in with it and exited the room, the lock of the door a heavy and final sound. 

Geralt had almost brought his breathing back to a regular rate, but his body was still shaking, the animal level of terror clinging to him residually. 

Despite his body being completely wrung out, he pulled himself upright enough to crawl towards Jaskier, getting as close to the man as the chains would allow. He didn’t have the energy to break them.

Jaskier limped forward, until he was at the end of his length of chain. 

The thing had been right, Jaskier would have wanted to talk to Geralt, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to offer words of comfort. Failing that, he would want to be able to touch Geralt, support him with gentle, kind teases of affection.

He could offer neither now. Geralt could see the man’s eyes full of unshed tears, rising from frustration and fear. 

Geralt opened his mouth to try to fill the silence, but found the salt water had left his own throat raw. He could barely muster a sound. 

Their only option was to turn to the bond, reaching out internally. 

They both had the same thought, and turned inwards. With the intense amount of focus into the connection and the level of emotion they were trying to share, the bond felt as though it was growing, expanding and strengthening. They sat, facing each other, pouring themselves into their bond, until exhaustion overtook them.

\--

Jaskier woke suddenly. The torches had burned down low so there was barely any light left in the room, and he looked around, desperate to be able to lay eyes on Geralt. He could see the shine of the man’s hair and relaxed, releasing a sharp breath. He could tell the man was still asleep through the bond, hopefully recovering some of his strength.

He didn’t need any time for the guilt from hours previous to saturate him as he sat, staring at the man who he had sentenced to a truly horrific torment. He had been able to feel Geralt’s honest forgiveness, even his relief and a sense of gratitude that Jaskier had chosen him. 

It really only made it worse. That the man should be grateful to bear someone else’s pain, when that was all he ever expected from the world anyways. He knew that it wasn’t that Geralt was trying to coddle him because he didn’t think Jaskier was strong enough, it was because somewhere, deep within Geralt, he felt that his entire worth was in the service he could provide others.

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier thought loudly, 'you are an irredeemable idiot.'

'Is that what you really think of me?'

Jaskier felt an electric sensation zing up his spine. It was almost as if… as if he could hear Geralt in his own mind.

He watched, stunned, as the man’s shape started to move, shifting to a seated position.

He tried again.

'Geralt?'

“What? Would you like to greet me with more insults as I wake?”

His voice was rough and barely there, Jaskier winced in sympathy as its hoarseness.

'If you can hear me, tell me that you cherish every song I’ve ever sung for you.'

“You know I don’t like to lie to you, Jask- wait.”

'...son of a goat fucking whore, can you hear my thoughts?!'

Geralt groaned.

“I will truly never know peace again.”

'Haha yes, your sense of humor, as always, is impeccable. But think, think you moron! This is our fucking chance. We can use this to escape!'

“It’ll only work if I can-”

Jaskier could hear the chains at Geralt’s wrists rattle as he moved again. He could hear the faint thud of one of Geralt’s boots making contact with the floor, and figured he was trying to get it back on his injured foot. The hiss of pain from the man confirmed it.

'If you can do it from your end too, yes. How do- how do we do it? You did it earlier, I think. Fuck, if we can figure this out…'

“I know, I know, give me a chance!”

He could feel Geralt’s frustration fresh through the bond as the man tried to replicate the process.

'Quickly, quickly, before it comes back, Geralt, I can’t bear any more of this, watching you drown.. It almost broke me. I won’t be able to choose you again, not if I have to watch like that…'

Geralt hissed at him and Jaskier could feel his concentration intensify. 

Their time ran out. The door swung open forcefully, the thing sweeping into the room, in far brighter spirits than when it had stormed out hours earlier. It quickly replaced the torches, brightening the room, and strode quickly towards Jaskier. 

'Okay, alright, Geralt listen to me - I’m going to distract it. Work on getting your arms free. Do it quietly.'

Geralt wasn’t able to acknowledge it but Jaskier could feel his disapproval at Jaskier’s plan.

Jaskier took a deep breath. This was going to be incredibly...distasteful. 

As soon as the thing got close enough, Jaskier reached slowly to grab at the hem of it’s robe, tugging on it lightly and pointing to his mouth. He arranged his face into a desperate look, a pleading look...exactly what this heinous creature wanted from him. 

It smiled nastily down at him.

“We see it’s had time to think of some better behavior, Jaskier. It looks so pretty on its knees, so pretty begging us.”

It curled its hand around the side of Jaskier’s face and he did his best to suppress his flinch, withstanding the discomfort and disgust to hold its attention. 

'Geralt, no matter what I say… don’t react, just please please please work on getting free.'

The creature traced its thumb across his mouth and Jaskier could feel the spell lift from him.

“Please-”

He coughed, his voice dry and rusty from disuse. 

“Please, I need water. I’ll do anything, but please I’m so thirsty.”

“Anything, it says? We wonder if that’s true. We wonder how badly it truly wants? What could we have it do?”

“I don’t care, I don’t- please, it's been days, I’ll die without it.”

“Will it really? Is it that dire? Perhaps, if it does something for us, we will do something for it.”

It tightened the hand holding his face, pressing the tip of its thumb past his lips. Jaskier felt his stomach churn, knowing if it asked for his mouth he’d have to... From the level of anger through the bond, he knew he only had a little time to work with before Geralt was incapable of keeping his protectiveness contained.

“W-what do you want?”

He didn’t have to act to add the element of fear to his voice, but he aimed for a slightly more defeated tone than he truly felt. Having discovered this new ability to communicate with Geralt… he was ready to rip every limb off this grotesque creature and piss on its corpse.

Whoops, had to control his face better than that if he wanted to trick it. 

Sooner than he anticipated, he felt a surge of success through the bond. With Geralt free, if he could just…

The creature withdrew a dagger from within the folds of its robe. 

“We want it to stab the Witcher. Right through the heart, where we left our mark.”

The disbelieving laugh ripped out of his throat before he could check it.

“Yeaaaaaah, that’s not happening. I’ll die slowly of thirst, thanks ever so much.”

The thing blinked in confusion at the quick change in Jaskier’s temperament, and then whirled around to face Geralt. 

Damn, it was too fucking clever.

Geralt, however, was not a shabby tactician himself. He hadn’t moved a hair yet, so the thing simply used its magic to keep him still, but paid no attention to the lax chains pooling behind the man as he had hid his wrists behind him before he was frozen.

“So it wants to play games this morning then. We have new games to play.”

It hid away the dagger back within its robes and withdrew instead a small pouch of what sounded like potion bottles clinking gently together. 

'Geralt, we need a plan. Just- just think of me, think of shouting at me, but in your head. Pretend I’m being unbearably irritating and channel that until you-'

'So you admit, you can be unbearably annoying.'

'Oh fuck, oh thank the gods. Fuck. Okay, okay, okay. Alright. Can we please get the hell out of here?'

'We’re gonna need another distraction, and I’m going to need to be free from its spell.'

They both watched the creature as it withdrew a bottle, filled with a sickly looking yellow fluid.

'Right, yeah, of course, I can distract it obviously, but-'

“We believe it is the Witcher’s turn, now?” 

Geralt glared at the thing silently, pausing their mental conversation.

“This will make it feel like it had drank fire. It will burn through its entire body, leaving it twisting in pain. The effects only last for minutes, but it will feel like a small eternity. Who does it choose?”

“Myself, obviously.”

'Geralt, for the love of all the gods…'

The thing hissed happily and prised open Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier shuddered as he watched the liquid pour past the man’s lips. How much more could he take? Cut, burned, drowned, now having his veins set alight in agony… 

And Jaskier simply had a broken finger, a dull, throbbing reminder that Geralt had burdened some of that pain as well. 

When they got out of here, Jaskier was going to verbally flay the man for being such a godsdamned martyr. 

For a moment, there was no reaction from him. Then his brow creased, sweat rapidly sheening across his face. A horrible, low groaning sound was rising in his throat. Jaskier felt himself start to sweat from the awful anxiety of waiting to see the man experience this brutal pain.

'Think of me. Think of Roach. Think of Yennefer. You have to let go of the pain, don’t hold on to it. Feel me with you, think of us-'

Geralt’s voice grew into a scream, and the man howled as the potion took its full effect. 

Jaskier couldn’t help tugging against his chains, every element of his being urging him to go to Geralt. 

The thing was hovering over Geralt, watching closely as the man’s expression contorted into sheer agony. 

The pain was starting to rush across the bond, and Jaskier could barely comprehend what he felt. Even secondhand, his body felt scorched and his chest constricted in shock. He dropped forward onto all fours as he took in more of the pain, fingers clawing at the stone floor as he tried to stay grounded through it.

“How is it possible…? Does it feel the Witcher’s pain? How? What is it, Jaskier?! What is it!?”

The thing practically threw itself back across the bars towards Jaskier, hauling him upright to look into his eyes. Jaskier saw as Geralt collapsed like an abandoned marionette, still in the grips of pain but the spell broken as the creature turned its full intent towards Jaskier.

“What is it what is it what is it?!” 

The thing was chanting, almost deranged as it yelled at Jaskier. 

“Like I’d fucking tell you, you ugly bastard.”

He barely managed to get the words out, sheer spite driving them, and then he felt the pain begin to ebb. Geralt’s screaming stuttered to a halt, and shortly the only sound in the room was his panting breaths as he bore down on the aftershocks.

It slapped him and shook him as his head snapped to the side.

“It will tell us. We must know, we must!”

“I thought we were playing a game, ugly. Well, we’re ready for the next round.”

Geralt’s voice was even more wrecked than it was previously, forcing the words out.

The thing cast a withering look at the Witcher, but seemed to reluctantly consider. 

“The Witcher is right. After we kill it, we will have all the time in the world to find out what Jaskier hides from us. And the game is much more interesting, if every torture is suffering shared, suffering multiplied…”

It reached into its bag for another potion.

“Jaskier-”

“Wait. It’s my turn again.”

'Geralt, what are you doing?'

'Trust me.'

“And how has the Witcher come to that conclusion? Has the pain affected its brain already?”

“No, but just before you offered Jaskier the choice of water or stabbing me. That means you gave him two choices in a row. It’s only fair you give me the same.”

The creature was furious at Geralt, but the thing seemed incredibly enamoured of the rules of its own game. It hesitated.

“Very well, if the Witcher is eager for another decision, we are eager to give it the chance.”

It withdrew a bottle, this time a dark blue liquid sloshed around inside it.

“This will make it re-live its worst memory. It will experience it as if it were present again, all the sights, smells and sounds, but it will know that it is trapped in a living nightmare. Who does it choose, Witcher?”

“Geralt, don’t you dare.”

The man had immediately opened his mouth, Jaskier was sure to nominate himself again, but paused when Jaskier spoke.

“This should be me and you know it. You have lived a life of countless horrors, each one more devastating than the last. In comparison, my life has not had nearly the same hardship. Anything I am forced to re-live will be multitudinously more tolerable.”

Geralt’s lips thinned as he considered it.

'Geralt, please, let me do this. For us.'

'I don’t - I can’t ask you to -'

'You’re not asking me, I’m telling you. Say my name, and then use this precious time to enact our escape.'

The creature was watching them intently, its suspicions raised by what it had seen of their connection.

Geralt exhaled sharply.

“I choose… Jaskier.”

It sounded like the words had been dragged out of him.

The thing looked surprised, but approached Jaskier with the bottle. It uncorked the bottle, clearly intending on the same dramatic effect that it had done with Geralt, but Jaskier had full use of his limbs. Once it got close enough, he snatched the bottle out of the thing’s hand and downed it in one long pull. Terrible flavor, truly.

For a moment, nothing changed. 

Then, Jaskier felt the room dim around him, felt a strong breeze pick up and caught the faint sound of rain.

He felt uneasy as he realized he wasn’t quite sure what his worst moment would be.

'Jaskier, remember: it’s not real. And I am with you.'

The scent of campfire, of horses… and of blood.

He could hear the screams now, men’s and women’s dying breaths, children crying and calling out for their parents. 

Jaskier knew what this was.

'Geralt, oh gods, please, don’t let me… don’t let this memory take me.'

He could hear the laughter of the bandits as they tore apart tents, searching for other victims amongst the caravan.

Jaskier curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his head between them.

'Nonononononono'

'Hey, hey, you’re alright, you’re not there. Not to steal your thunder, but as you like to say: focus on my voice, on me.'

Jaskier could hear Geralt, but muted, distant, and even though he knew the man was right to try and distract him, he was being inexorably pulled into the memory.

His sixteen-year-old self had hidden in the dense brush aligning the camp. In a fit of pique, he had left Oxenfurt, frustrated with his studies and joined a caravan of nomads, convinced that he would find far better use of his time learning oral traditions from the sources himself, rather than his strict, overbearing professor at the time.

Not being a true member of the familial group, he had set up his bedroll on the edge of their camp and at the first screams had scrambled into the nearby brush. He had no weapon, no training to defend himself, and he was terrified. 

It was dark, and the rain had dulled the campfires some, but hearing the chaos had been far more excruciating than seeing it. 

He watched as the bandits slew the nomads carelessly, dropping the bodies and carving off body parts to show as trophies to their fellows. 

He heard the shrieks of women as they fell upon them, striking them, pinning them to the ground amongst groups of them and laughing at them as they raped them. 

Jaskier could feel himself trembling. He could barely feel Geralt’s presence the longer the memory progressed. 

Oh gods, he couldn’t live through this next part again… he couldn’t…

He watched as a group of the thieves moved closer to where he was hiding, tearing down the small tents as they passed them. They finished disassembling one and went to move on when something caught their attention. Jaskier could vaguely see them dig through the fabric.

He desperately tried to close his eyes, but it was as if the images were pasted to the back of his eyelids, as if there was no escape from it. 

The men pulled two toddlers out of the reams of fabric, neither more than four or five years old. Jaskier moaned in terror. He couldn’t...couldn’t…

The moment the first bandit kicked one of the toddlers, sending its small body tumbling across the dirt, Jaskier’s younger self had sprung out of his hiding place, charging towards the group, He had no idea what he was going to do but…

He watched as the one thief raised it’s sword.

NonononononoNO!

There was nothing in this world that could force Jaskier to suffer this again. He flung out his mind to the bond, not knowing what he was doing, but pulling on its strength. He felt Geralt urgently push their power towards him and somehow, dragged himself out of the memory.

“I. Will. NOT!”

As soon as he spoke, the power of the potion subsided and Jaskier was snapped back into his present, curled on the floor and hyperventilating. 

“How?!”

The thing was screaming in fury, hands going directly for Jaskier’s throat and choking him savagely.

Jaskier clawed at the thing’s hands, gasping, as he heard the scraping of chains against the ground across the room. 

The thing had ignored Geralt for too long. 

'Jaskier, the chain! When I throw it-'

'Yes, now!'

Still wielding the power of the bond, Jaskier pushed all of his Compulsion behind his next words.

“Release me.”

The creature’s hands relinquished as if burned, and it looked as if it were a thing of pure rage. In the moment the compulsion sank in, Jaskier forced himself to his feet while Geralt threw the end of one of the chains that had held him down with unerring accuracy to wrap around the thing’s neck. Before the thing could resist the compulsion, Jaskier grabbed the loose end of the chain, ignoring the wave of pain in his hand. At the same time, both he and Geralt pulled on each end of the chain, the force so powerful they cleanly decapitated the thing. 

It’s head slapped wetly against the floor.

Before the rest of its body even hit the ground, Geralt was dodging through the bars and had Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier clung onto him, burying his head into Geralt’s shoulder, barely able to believe that he was holding the man. 

“We’re okay, we’re okay. Jaskier, please just…”

He pulled back, pushing the hair out of Jaskier’s face and brought their lips together into a violent kiss. Jaskier responded immediately, overwhelmed and gasping for breath in between their lips wildly pressing together. Geralt’s hands ran down his neck, his shoulders, tracing over every part of his body he could reach, seemingly reassuring himself. Jaskier gripped palmful’s of Geralt’s hair, careful of his damaged hand, and pulled back from the kiss, resting their foreheads together as they both breathed into each other’s space. 

“I can’t- we can’t-”

“It’s over, we don’t need to-”

“No, no, listen to me.” 

Jaskier pulled back even further to look directly into Geralt’s eyes.

“I can’t bare that, ever again. Never. Do not ask me to watch you suffer, do not ask me to ever choose to make you suffer in my pla-”

Geralt pushed back against Jaskier’s grip, leaning in to kiss him again. Jaskier allowed it, wanting the touch far more than the chance to scold and threaten Geralt. 

“Let’s- let’s- Geralt, really. Let’s leave this fucking place. Now. Immediately. We can take our time later, but please I need to not be in this room any longer.”

Geralt kept his hands at Jaskier’s waist, but nodded in agreement. He wound his arms around Jaskier to pull him in for another embrace.

“Okay. Okay. I just… I need a moment.”

The man buried his nose into Jaskier’s shoulder and inhaled deeply, fingers squeezing brutally into Jaskier’s side. After a few deep breaths, Jaskier could feel as he forced himself to step back and release him.

They continued to stare at each other, unmoving. 

Then, Jaskier felt something wet run along the side of his foot. He jumped slightly in surprise, and saw that the blood from the creature had trickled across the floor and pooled around his bare foot.

Just seeing the thing’s corpse reignited his rage and he lunged for it, surprising Geralt. He dug through its robes until… ah ha! He found the knife it had hidden away. He ripped it out with his good hand and drove it into the thing’s abdomen, stabbing it repeatedly, violently, slightly unhinged in his fury.

Well, he had promised himself some revenge, and this was catharsis at it’s finest. 

He felt Geralt’s shock fade to understanding, and the man simply watched as he continued until his arm fatigued and he dropped the knife limply, chest heaving as he knelt next to the body. 

“Hmm.”

He looked up in time to see Geralt considering the head of the creature, inches away from him on the ground. In one swift motion, and with a sickening crunch of bone, he stomped down on the skull of the thing with his booted foot, almost flattening it in one blow.

Their eyes met and they smiled wildly at each other. 

“Now we can go.”

Geralt offered Jaskier his hand, and pulled him to his feet. As he took a step towards the door, he sucked in a sharp breath as he put his weight on his burned foot - the shock and adrenaline that had let him kill the thing wearing off finally. Jaskier stepped close to thread an arm around his waist, pulling one of Geralt’s arms over his own shoulder. 

They took their first slow steps towards freedom together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains physical & psychological torture, including: cutting, breaking bones, burning, drowning/waterboarding and forcing someone to relive a traumatic memory. Please take care of yourselves, friends!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @nerdmidas on tumblr, if you're, y'know, into that sort of thing.


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